


The Way Things Ought to Be

by AlleiraDayne



Series: Instead of Going to Bed DAI Verse [18]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen Fluff, Cullen Rutherford Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 12:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12012891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: Cullen trains ex-templars on his family farm.





	The Way Things Ought to Be

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/138010791@N02/37056596865/in/datetaken-public/)

 

“Continued drills keep the mind sharp,” Cullen declared as he paced. Before him, several rows of men and women stood, swords and shields in hand and their attention focused on him.

“Drills are not just for the body,” he continued. “They work your mind as well, and your body needs a sharp mind. You’ve each known lyrium for so long, your mind and body must learn to work as one _without_ it again. Understand?”

A rousing “Yes, sir!” resonated through the yard and Cullen beamed with pride.

After everything, after Kinloch, Kirkwall, and even the Inquisition, at long last, he’d discovered his life’s calling. While the Templars had directed him, the cost had been far too great. No man deserved the typical fate that befell a Templar after decades on lyrium. And so, he stood before thirty men and women, each of them a Templar in a past life, desperate for a long and healthy future.

“You’ve come here to take back your lives,” Cullen said. “So, I expect you to train, to fight, as if your lives depended on it. _Better your best_. Whether you’re twenty or sixty, I want to see everything you’ve got. Understand?”

Another booming “Yes, sir!” carried through the yard, swords banging on shields, and Cullen could have wept. These men and women, with eyes so sunken but _bright_ , brighter than ever now they were free from their lyrium prisons, embodied hope. Hope for a future full of life, life before lyrium, before addiction, before the Order had stripped that hope from them.

“Pair off,” Cullen ordered. “Ser Barris will lead you through your drills. I will see you all at dinner and after for our nightly vigil.” Trading a firm handshake with his partner, Delrin Barris stepped beside him, shoulders square and a bright toothy grin on his face, proud as he of their work. “You’re in good hands, folks. Remember, _better your best_.” Turning on his heel, the former Commander of the Inquisition departed the yard and headed for the cabin at the east end of the farm.

The redolent dirt path stirred the depths of his mind, drumming up memories of a lifetime long forgotten. Breathless laughter and skinned knees, endless summer sun and bales of hay, those muted verses from another’s fondest moments bubbled to the surface. And for several moments, borne onward by the recollections of his past, Cullen drowned in that suffocating remembrance, existing in neither the past nor the present, but both.

The door of the cabin eased beneath his heavy hands, exhaustion claiming another day of hard work. But salt and garlic filled his nose, a revitalizing aroma that breathed new life into his tired limbs, casting aside his regrets. Through the threshold, Cullen entered the cozy kitchen to find a large pot of beef simmering on the iron stove. With a cursory check, he ensured their meal wasn’t burning–not that she was a terrible cook–only to find his nose brimming with another scrumptious treat.

There on the counter beside the sink sat a blackcurrant pie, cooling in the open window’s breeze.

 _I don’t deserve this_.

Before the grasp of his demons took hold, a shout from the rear of the cabin startled him and he rushed for the rear door. He wrenched the knob, tearing the door aside and leaping over the threshold onto a magnificent scene.

Icy wind and roiling fire encircled Amallia as she whirled her staff in time with a brilliant ethereal blade, commanding the forces of the Fade to bend to her will. And at the opposite end of the yard stood Aoife and Kahlan, matching their mother’s every gesture.

Brilliant blue eyes found his, wide and vibrant as ever. But in that moment of recognition, that wild passion contorted into abject terror, and he magic snuffed out in the blink of an eye. Aoife and Kahlan followed suit, ever the perfect students.

“Why did you stop?!” he breathed. “They were brilliant!”

Relief–no, not simply relief, but elation radiated from Amallia. And the girls laughed, Kahlan wrapping Aoife in a tight hug. “See, I told you he would be proud of us!” she claimed.

“Proud?” Cullen stated as he crossed the yard. Kneeling before them he cupped their cheeks, Kahlan with her obsidian curls and Aoife with her blonde waves, _night_ and _day_. “Proud doesn’t come close to how I feel for my magnificent, mages, my wild, wonderful wizards.”

“You mean it, Papa?” Aoife asked with a coy smile. “You’re happy we’re mages?”

“Mages, Enchanters, Sorcerers, or the fiercest warrior women, whatever you want to be, I am happy you are _you_ ,” he said as he touched the tip of her nose. “And _you_ ,” he echoed, touching Kahlan’s nose.

“And you,” he added over his shoulder, and though Amallia rolled her eyes at him, she didn’t bother to hide her rosy cheeks and unbidden smile.

“Dinner time, girls. Time to wash up,” she insisted.

“Aw, show us more, mama,” Kahlan pleaded.

“Please, mama! A few more minutes?” Aoife added.

Cullen pouted with them. “Show us more?”

An eyebrow curled toward her hairline. “You want more?” she asked with a cocky grin.

The girls chimed in with a resounding, “Yes!” and Cullen wasn’t far behind.

“Show us what you know, Knight-Enchanter.”

With a hitch of her sleeve, Amallia turned toward the rolling hills and darkening night sky.

“How about some shooting stars?”


End file.
